Two Blondes, a Bar and a Night at Home
by INMH
Summary: Crack!Pairing, LIGHT on the romance. Okay, two blondes walk into a bar, one gets sloshed, they go home together, and actually don’t have sex- Wait, not a joke?


Two Blondes, a Bar and a Night at Home

Rating: PG-13/T  
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance  
Summary: Crack!Pairing. Okay, two blondes walk into a bar, one gets sloshed, they go home together, and actually don't have sex- Wait, not a joke?

Author's Note: I. Don't. Know.

I have wanted to pair Izuru with someone. He needs love.

One thing you have to understand with me: I CANNOT just pair anyone with anyone (Though I am flexible when reading different pairings). I have one, solid pairing for any two given people, and I am not content until it _feels right _to me. I paired Gin with Rangiku, Shuuhei with Kensei, Renji with Byakuya, and Momo with… Actually, she's still pending, but I tried her out with Izuru and decided it was a no-go.

So, I decided to look outside the box.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Tite Kubo does.

-

"I recognize you!"

The voice was mild and somewhat surprised. Through the haze that several shots of tequila (Izuru had lost count after seven), he could see a slim, tanned man, long blonde hair pulled back, and dressed in a simple long-sleeved green shirt with jeans and sneakers.

And however much tequila he'd knocked back, Izuru couldn't shake the sense that yes, indeed, this man seemed familiar to him as well, though he couldn't imagine where he could have met him before, so limited were his trips to the world of the living.

The stranger slid into the chair across from his in one fluid motion. "You're a Soul Reaper, aren't you?"

Izuru, who'd been reaching for the bottle again, stopped, and allowed his eyes to flicker up and meet the burgundy orbs of the other's. "And just… Who are you?" Voice slightly slurred. Buzzed- Enough to get you arrested if you're behind the wheel, not enough to completely blow your mind until the next morning.

"Ilforte Grantz." When all he got was a hazy but blank look, he sighed. "I'm an Arrancar, fool." Izuru's eyes widened.

He'd been expecting anything from "I'm in your Division, fool", to "I'm your long-lost brother", but sure as hell not "I'm an Arrancar". Ilforte was clearly in a gigai of some sort, seeing as how there was no Hollow mask remnant visible on him.

He wondered what he should do, Soul Reaper training kicking in almost immediately, but then just as quickly decided that doing nothing was best.

Like it mattered if he died.

"Oh." He poured another shot and laid it back. Ilforte cocked an eyebrow. He'd been expecting to get attacked; At the very least glared at and interrogated. But to just be suddenly ignored?

Interesting.

It was times like this where the curiosity that both he and Szayel seemed to have inherited ran rampant in Ilforte's mind. Why exactly was a Soul Reaper, a Hollow's sworn enemy, not reacting to his presence?

_Very_ interesting.

Ilforte could have left, could have gone to get a drink, but instead remained seated, observing the indifferent, blonde Death God. He was cute, reasonably so… Thin, much like himself… Blonde, also much like himself… But this fellow was pale. Almost unnaturally so. In fact, he could probably give Ulquiorra a run for his money, and Ilforte was willing to put money on the idea that the Fourth wore make-up.

"You wouldn't happen to know any Soul Reapers with red hair, hm? Head much like a pineapple?" Izuru dropped the shot glass on the table- literally, dropped it, but since his hand wasn't that far away to begin with, it didn't do any damage.

"Yeah. Renji. That must be why- why I recognize you. The Soul Society has you on rec-record from that fight. Yeah." He murmured vaguely, and Ilforte suspected that that last sentence had not been directed at him.

"And you're on record with us, as well." Ilforte paused, brow furrowing in thought. "Well, you must be pretty high in rank, if Aizen actually bothered to keep information on you. Captain?" Izuru shook his head sloppily.

"Assistant Captain Izuru Kira." Ilforte nodded.

"Right, right." He was silent for a few minutes, watching Izuru pour more shots. Some he drank right away, others he swished around in the glass a bit and stared at with a foggy gaze.

He seemed… Depressed.

And his paleness kept drawing Ilforte's attention. Like there was something about it that wasn't right. Sick, maybe?  
It was then that Ilforte caught sight of something he hadn't paid attention to before. Flashes of white under the black jacket Izuru was sporting… At first, Ilforte had assumed that the Shinigami was simply wearing a long-sleeved white shirt under the jacket, but upon closer inspection (Which went undetected), he realized that they were bandages.

Bandages on his wrists.

Hm. Now, when one sees bandages wrapped around someone else's wrists, what does one usually assume?

"So… What brings an Assistant Captain to the world of the living?" Izuru didn't answer, and Ilforte realized after a moment that it was because he was still in his own little world. He rapped on the wooden tabletop to get the other's attention, and he received it. Izuru seemed surprised, and Ilforte repeated his question.

Izuru shrugged a bit. "Don't know."

Ilforte sent a brief glance back to the other blonde's wrists. This time, however, Izuru noticed, and his mind was just clear enough to adjust his sleeves and lay his arms flat on the table. This time, however, Ilforte addressed the issue directly.

"What happened there, hm?" Izuru scowled.

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"What do you care?"

"I don't 'care'. I'm 'interested'. And it doesn't seem you care like too much right now either, or you, a Soul Reaper, wouldn't be talking to me, an Arrancar. And you wouldn't be drinking that much alcohol when your body is clearly not strong enough to handle it at the moment. You trying to off yourself or something?"

Izuru's glare thinned a bit, and he looked away. He didn't answer. Ilforte felt like pushing his luck, even thought provoking people who'd had a bit too much to drink was never exactly a brilliant idea.

"What could get you so depressed? Didn't you guys win the war? Isn't everyone in Soul Society all happy and ducky now that the big, bad Arrancar menace is down?" Izuru's glare was redirected at Ilforte, and was now intensified.

"Yeah, everyone's happy. Everyone's spectacular. It's Springtime in the Seireitei, and everyone's giddy. Everyone except frigging _me_." He poured another shot, threw it back, and them slammed the glass back down on the table. Ilforte watched with a raised eyebrow.

"Why not?" Izuru seemed torn then between explaining his problems to Ilforte and promptly telling him to screw off. Ilforte gaze slackened a bit. "Come on. What negative effects could possibly come from talking to me?"

Oh, there were probably dozens, but Izuru was too buzzed to sound them off at the moment.

He was also too buzzed to come up with an eloquent way to describe his dilemma, so he merely settled with, "I'm alone."

Ilforte stared at him for a moment, blinking. He looked back and forth for a moment and shrugged one shoulder. "And?"

"And I'm alone. What more do you want?" Ilforte stared at him again.

"Well, are you alone as in you _live_ alone, are you alone as in no one _talks_ to you alone, or are you, in general, just a lonely person?" Izuru sighed and rubbed his head, trying to articulate better.

"I'm… _Alone_. Renji… He has Captain Kuchiki. Rangiku has Captain- Has Gin. Shuuhei has Kensei. And I… I don't have anyone."

"_Oh_, oh. I get it. You don't have a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whatever." Ilforte waved his hand and nodded. "You want company."

"I'd _like _to not be the friggin' third wheel everywhere I go." He grunted, moving to pour another shot. He stopped, however, when a thin, tanned hand covered his own and pushed it away from the glass.

"Lay off. How long ago was it that that happened?" He nodded to Izuru's wrists.

"Last night." He received an odd glance from the Arrancar. "What?"

"And you're not… Exhausted? Or in pain?"

Izuru pointed indicatively to the alcohol, and Ilforte understood. He was here to numb the pain. But the Arrancar still shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe they let you out of the medical bay like that." He gestured vaguely to Izuru's less-than-healthy appearance. Izuru glanced away.

"They didn't." Now both of Ilforte's eyebrows jumped up.

"You're kidding me. You went AWOL?" Izuru sniffed.

"Sort of." Ilforte chuckled, leaning back in his chair again.

"Aren't you going to get an earful of it?" Izuru snorted.

"I think they're more worried about my 'current mental state'-" He wagged his fingers for emphasis, "-Than anything else."

"You planning on slashing your wrists again?"

Izuru didn't answer. He glanced at the tequila bottle, but made no move to pick it up. The entire point of coming here was to numb the emotional pain enough so that he wouldn't feel the urge to 'slash his wrists again' quite as strongly as he did while being treated by the Fourth Division. At the moment, he was not quite numb, and honestly had no idea what he was going to do when he left.

"LAST CALL!" The bartender bellowed, making them both jump. "FINISH UP AND GET OUT!"

Izuru groaned. The last thing- _the_ last- he wanted to do right now was go back to Soul Society. He _was_ going to get an earful of it for taking off, not to mention getting drunk on top of it. Had they still been in the middle of a war, he might have had steeper consequences to expect, but figured he might be confined to the Fourth Division for a time.

Ilforte stretched his arms out before him and yawned. "You going home?"

"No." Flat and not irritated, but not pleased either. Ilforte gave it a moment's thought, casting his gaze to the ceiling before flipping it back to Izuru.

"Come home with me, then."

-

Why he said yes- Why he acquiesced to the suggestion that many other would have found insane was something that Izuru might have questioned himself on during a better night. A night when he didn't just want to go to sleep and stay that way for a week or two. Ilforte led him, occasionally giving his arm a little tug when he seemed close to wandering into the street.

The house was large, with three floors, and somehow Izuru immediately got the impression that Ilforte and his brother (For Ilforte had muttered something under his breath to the effect of 'I really hope little brother's _done_ by now…') were not the sole occupants of the abode.

There was a swinging bench on the front porch, which was covered in chipped white paint. There were two doors, a screen door and a wooden door, and when Ilforte opened them both and led him inside, Izuru thought that there might be someone already seated in the small living-room setting, as the lights were on. Izuru saw no one.

Ilforte seemed a little wary, glancing around and standing perfectly still, as though he expected someone to jump him. He pulled Izuru further in and gestured wordlessly to the couch before creeping into the adjoining hall and looking up what Izuru assumed must have been the staircase.

When he turned back around, Ilforte seemed relieved. "A'right. I-"

It was just then that what he'd been listening for became very, very apparent, as a loud, lusty _moan_ echoed from upstairs. Izuru went dark red, and Ilforte gnashed his teeth together before stomping back to the staircase.

"OH, FOR SHIT'S SAKE, SZAYEL, CLOSE YOUR GODDAMN DOOR!" Ilforte roared up the stairs. His younger brother responded with a few choice, crude words that almost made Izuru giggle (Mainly because Ilforte's facial expression in response to those words was just too classic).

Indeed, this had been precisely how Ilforte had ended up in the bar: He'd wanted to get away from Szayel and his new _friend_. Heaven and hell knew he wouldn't have been able to sleep if he'd had to listen to those two getting it on all night.

Ilforte sighed, kneading his temples wearily as he plopped down on the couch next to Izuru.

"Sorry about that," He grumbled, glaring ominously at the ceiling. "I'm gonna kill him. I swear. He said he'd soundproof the damn room. And you know, if _I_ was banging someone in _my_ room, the bastard would probably have the nerve to kick in the door and tell us to shut up."

Izuru let out the only sort of laugh he could: Barely audible huffs of air. He was just too tired and buzzed. He wanted to sleep. And as tired as he was, he would be willing to put up with whatever noises Szayel and his friend were making (And ever since Ilforte had yelled up, they seemed to have gotten much more vocal to spite him).

"What time is it?"

Ilforte craned his neck back to peer into the kitchen. "2:00 AM." He let out a snarl. "Those bastards are putting on a show just to piss me off. There's no way they could have _that_ much energy after six hours!"

"Hm. Catch me on a night when I'm not passed out and I'll help you get back at them." Izuru mumbled, letting his eyes slip shut and head fall to the side. Ilforte smirked.

"Really, now? What did you have in mind?"

"What do you think?" Ilforte cackled.

"I think you just solved your problem, Soul Reaper." Ilforte reached over Izuru to the opposite arm of the couch, yanking up a blanket that had been folded there. "Here. Move." He stretched out along the full length of the couch before pulling Izuru to lie next to him, the Soul Reaper's head on his shoulder. He pulled the blanket over them (Grunting slightly when he heard another noise from upstairs), and settled in.

"Night, Soul Reaper."

"It's morning."

"Oh, whatever."

-End

-

…Geez. To think that this started out as a vague idea in my mind on Tuesday morning. It is currently 1:36 A.M, and I need to go brush my teeth and go to bed before I pass out.

Now it's 1:37.

God, my mind wasn't meant to function past eleven.

I think I started this around 11:50, maybe midnight. Can't remember. Too sleepy. Night.

Ah, just so we're clear, I'm a minor. I therefore have limited knowledge of alcohol, and thus no idea how many shots of tequila one could have before getting drunk (Or before the bartender would be obliged to cut you off). Or, for that matter, how many it would take to do you in if you were ill.

What's more, I'm considering writing a separate story in which many of the Arrancar are alive and living in the real world. This may be connected.

Yeah. Feel the flames of insanity licking at your heels. Do you run? Or do you cackle with excitement and charge into the belly of the beast?


End file.
